


Incubus? You Hardly Know Us!

by jedusaur



Category: Bandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Orgasm Control, Pegging, Polyamory, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/pseuds/jedusaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The logical thing to do, in Frank's opinion, would be to use the time machine to send Mikey back to have sex with himself. There's no reason for anyone else to get dragged into this. He and Ray aren't even into dudes, and Gerard is out of the question. (As is Bob. There's straight, and then there's straight.) Mikey should clean up his own infernal messes, if you ask Frank.</p><p>"You're a moron," Mikey tells him. "We would get stuck in a feedback loop of energy depletion until we both died."</p><p>Well, okay, except for <i>that</i>, it's logical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incubus? You Hardly Know Us!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greedy_dancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/gifts).



> Thanks to [](http://dear-monday.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dear-monday.livejournal.com/)**dear_monday** for the beta, last-minute as usual.
> 
> Happy birthday, [](http://greedy-dancer.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**greedy_dancer**](http://greedy-dancer.dreamwidth.org/)! I think I hit somewhere between a third and half of the items on [the list](http://greedy-dancer.dreamwidth.org/595635.html). I gave canon compliance my best shot, since I know you care about that--please forgive any remaining mistakes.
> 
> The title is [your own fault](http://twitter.com/#!/greedydancer/status/154500473167167489). :P

The logical thing to do, in Frank's opinion, would be to use the time machine to send Mikey back to have sex with himself. There's no reason for anyone else to get dragged into this. He and Ray aren't even into dudes, and Gerard is out of the question. (As is Bob. There's straight, and then there's straight.) Mikey should clean up his own infernal messes, if you ask Frank.

"You're a moron," Mikey tells him. "We would get stuck in a feedback loop of energy depletion until we both died."

Well, okay, except for _that_ , it's logical.

Really, Frank just doesn't want to have to wrangle a confused, hormonal teenage demon. But neither does Ray, and the band are the only ones who know about Mikey. Except Pete, whose offer to take on the burden of taming the underage beast is what finally gets Frank and Ray to break down and reach for a quarter.

"Horny heads or pointy tails?" asks Ray, flipping the coin along his knuckles.

"Doesn't really matter," says Frank. "Whoever loses is getting head _and_ tail from baby Mephistopheles."

Mikey glares. He hates it when they mock him for the demon thing.

Frank loses, obviously. He tries to get Jamia to veto the whole idea, but no such fucking luck. She thinks it's hilarious that he's being coerced into sex with a supernatural minor. He has a niggling suspicion that she also thinks it's hot, but he doesn't ask questions about that, because he really doesn't want to know. It's Mikey, for fuck's sake. He's doing a favor for a friend, that's all.

There's no denying that something has to be done. Mikey's got a serious problem with keeping his dick to himself. If he doesn't get laid, he can't function, and if he does get laid, whoever he fucked can't function. It's not a good situation. Frank isn't all that knowledgeable about demonic physiology--another good reason someone _else_ should handle this--but according to Mikey, some kind of homeostatic energy calibration mechanism got fucked up when he was a teenager because he got so much ass.

("Christ, Way, the problems you have to deal with."

"Just because _you_ never got laid in high school...")

So now Frank gets to hop into the time machine Mikey borrowed off Gabe, who whined about letting it go even though he only ever used it to go clothes shopping in the '80s, and teach his best friend's sixteen-year-old self to keep it in his pants. Awesome. He takes solace only in the knowledge that Mikey is going to owe him for this for the rest of his natural life. Which, for a demon, is likely going to be a pretty long time.

***

There are probably less pleasant ways to wake up than having a full-grown man land on your knees at six o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, but so far Mikey hasn't discovered any of them. He hadn't discovered this one either until now, and he was actually just fine with that.

" _Yeow_!" he grunts, and peers over the edge of his blankets, trying to figure out who the fuck is jumping on him. The standard culprit for this sort of thing is his brother, but Gerard is at SVA right now, and the shape of this person is all wrong to be him. Mikey can't see very well without his glasses on, but he doesn't think he knows him. Which makes his presence on Mikey's bed extremely unsettling.

The stranger rolls off Mikey's legs. "Hey, you okay?" he asks. "I was aiming for the floor, but I guess the furniture's been moved around since... now."

Mikey remains absolutely silent, trying to figure out what's going on. Nothing sensible is coming to mind.

"The thing didn't have a setting for time, either, just date." The guy looks around until he locates Mikey's digital alarm clock. "Jesus, is that AM? I am sincerely sorry about that, dude. Unintentional, I swear. So hey, I'm Frank, and I'm here to tell you about the satanic birds and bees. Trust me when I say I'm not any happier about that than you are."

He's still sitting on the edge of the bed. Mikey edges his feet away from Frank's ass. Tentatively, trying not to make any sudden movements, he reaches out for his glasses and settles them on his face. It's still dim, the only light in the room a weak grey from the window. Still moving slowly, he leans over to turn on his bedside lamp.

Frank looks like he's in his early twenties, pierced and tattooed. He's exactly the type of guy Mikey would pick up at a basement show, right after the band leaves the stage, while he's still riding a high from the pit. It's always better when they're riding a high.

"Hi," says Frank. He waves. "Mikey? You in there? Say something."

"If I scream, my parents will be here in ten seconds flat," says Mikey.

"Whoa, whoa, hey." Frank holds up his hands defensively. "I'm here to help you, dude. Don't you want to know why sex gets you all buzzed but coming lays you flat? I'm like your sexytimes Yoda. Don't get your sexytimes Yoda arrested, man, that's just rude."

This is not reassuring on the potential molestation front, although it's true that Mikey has wondered about the post-orgasmic crashing thing. He figured it was probably normal. Most things about adolescence seem to be normal for some value of the word.

"This is fucking weird," says Frank. "Two minutes ago you were begging me to come do this, and now you're looking at me like I'm some kind of pervert for suggesting it. I told you, I don't want to be here. I'm doing this as a favor to older you, okay?"

Mikey shrinks back a little. "What... exactly... is it you're suggesting?"

"There we go." Frank turns toward him and pulls his legs up onto the bed, crossing them in front of him. "Let's start with the part it'll take you the longest to process. You're an incubus. Soul-sucking sex demon. It's actually a good thing you're so promiscuous right now, because if you were leaching this much energy from just one person, you'd probably kill them."

" _Cool_ ," says Mikey, intrigued.

Frank shakes his head and says, "I guess you've always been a weird-ass motherfucker." It doesn't sound like he's talking to Mikey.

An incubus. That would explain why Mikey never feels like jerking off, but is always, always up for a fuck. And it would explain why the people he fucks are always so worn out afterwards, and so puzzled about it, like it only happens with him.

"You gain energy from sex," says Frank. "But you lose it when you come. That's why you're fucking around so much right now. Your body knows what it needs, but you don't know when to stop. You just gotta quit splooging so much."

Mikey thinks of the last time he had sex, day before yesterday. It was in the bathroom at school, while he was supposed to be in physics. During the fifty-minute period, he came three times.

"Shit," he says.

"Yeah." Frank leans forward, elbows on his knees. "You told me. Older you, I mean. You said that when you were sixteen, you basically painted this town with your jizz. And now--when I come from, I mean--you're out of control. You have to fuck, like, three people a day to get enough energy just to function normally. More like five on days when we have... when we're working. This is a fucking intervention, okay, you have to get hold of yourself."

Mikey should be more skeptical of all this, but he's seen way too many sci-fi movies to brush off a warning like that. "How?" he asks. Orgasms aren't something he _plans._ They just happen to him. And he can't stop having sex. Even if Frank is full of shit, Mikey knows he can't stop having sex. It's a basic need, and he embraces that about himself.

"That's the part I'm supposed to be helping you with," says Frank. "Mikey said--I mean, you said, when you're older--that you wouldn't have any trouble getting it up for me. You probably won't get any juice out of it, since I'm straight, but I can help you learn to control yourself. I have some, you know, personal experience with that."

The image of Frank, naked and panting and trying not to come, has Mikey hard in about a second. Frank stays where he is, like he's waiting for permission, and fuck it. It's not like this is any more dangerous than fucking strangers in clubs, and Mikey does that all the time.

He pushes down the blanket a little, letting Frank see that he's hard in his pajama pants, and waits to find out what comes next.

***

Frank lands on the arm of a chair and swears loudly. That chair was _not_ there when he left 2005, he's positive of it.

"Sorry," says Mikey, who's sitting in the chair. "Shouldn't have moved the furniture. How'd it go?"

"Don't you remember?" Frank asks. He's curious about how developments in the past affect memories in the future. He's read enough books on the theoretical physics of time travel for laymen that he's pretty sure somebody should have just exploded or died or something.

Mikey looks fine, though, no explosions in sight. "Kinda? It was nine fucking years ago, dude. I remember some guy I didn't know showing up in my room, scaring the shit out of me, and grabbing my dick."

"I did not grab your dick without your full stated permission," protests Frank. "Also, couldn't we have sent you for the explaining part and then had me go do the sexing after teenage Mikeyway had a little familiarity with the situation? That was awkward as fuck. I feel like a child molester."

"Just imagine what would have happened if we'd sent Pete," says Ray from the corner, and they all take a moment to contemplate the hypothetical consequences of handing Pete Wentz a horny sixteen-year-old Mikey to fuck.

"Thanks for doing this, Frank," says Mikey, who loves Pete dearly but is not actually stupid.

Frank shrugs. "It wasn't that bad, I guess. You basically jizzed on me the second I touched you, but we were expecting that. It'll take a few visits."

"I was okay with that, right?" says Mikey. "I mean, I don't want to cause myself actual psychological trauma here."

Frank grins, maybe a little too smug, but whatever, he's earned it. "You were about a hundred and ten percent okay with that," he informs Mikey. "Were you ever gonna tell me about the giant boner you have for my ink?"

"Had," says Mikey. "I had a giant boner for live bodies when I was sixteen, cut me some slack."

Frank pauses for a moment, then shuffles closer and bares his arm. "Lookit the colors, Mikeyway," he says, flexing. "You know you want my sexy tattooed ass."

Mikey rolls his eyes but stoically endures the teasing. Frank is unrepentant. Mikey deserves it for what he's putting Frank through.

Speaking of which. Frank needs to find a bathroom and some hand soap, pronto.

***

The next few days pass just a little too slowly, homework and computer games and sex rolling around Mikey like rocks in a tumbler. Frank said he would be back, but he didn't say exactly when. Every moment Mikey spends alone in his room is tense with expectation, and every time he comes he's wracked with guilt. It's like his future self isn't actually himself, he's someone completely different, someone who relies on Mikey's choices and suffers from his failures. It's a lot of pressure.

A week after his first visit, again at six in the morning, Frank lands in Mikey's laundry basket with a muffled thump and a sudden crack.

Mikey sits up to grab his glasses and turn on the light. "Did you break my laundry basket?" he asks, blinking across the room.

"Yeah, I think I did." Frank clambers out of it. "Sorry. One of these days I'll figure out the right place to stand to end up in the middle of the room."

The bed and the laundry basket are probably better targets than the floor in terms of not waking up Mikey's family, but Mikey doesn't say that. He doesn't want to talk about his parents, not when Frank is walking toward him, taking off his shirt, and sitting down at the other end of the bed.

"What's..." Mikey clears his throat. "What's the plan for today?"

He's going to do better this time. Whatever Frank does to him, he'll hold off longer. Last week was _embarrassing_.

"This," says Frank. He settles himself at the foot of Mikey's bed, reaching his arms back to grab the bedposts. The stretch makes his pecs stand out a little. Mikey can't tear his eyes away. Frank squirms slowly, rolling his torso a little. "You're going to look at me and think about how hot I am, and you're not going to touch yourself," he says, his voice even and confident.

Mikey doesn't want to touch himself. He wants to touch _Frank_. He loves it when he plays with someone's skin and feels them shudder under him, feels their arousal building up warm inside him. He wants to make Frank feel that way, wants to lick his neck, right there, that dip above the collarbone...

He's been hard since Frank arrived, but this is just ridiculous. Mikey shifts, pulling the blankets tighter around his waist.

He makes it about five minutes by the digital clock until the first "please" escapes his control.

***

"Holy _fuck_ , that was an ego trip," says Frank, collapsing on the sofa.

Jamia, already curled up comfortably with a book on the other end, pokes his thigh with her toe. "Mikey Junior's into you, huh?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. I'm half convinced I'm Brad Pitt right now." Frank flops over onto his stomach and Rambo-wriggles across the cushions to her, burying his face in her tits. "Camwe funk?" he mumbles into them.

"Did those smooth moves work on him?" she says, unimpressed.

Frank rolls his head to the side. "C'mon, J, please? I'll go down on you for like an hour, promise."

"Since when does watching teenage boys try not to jerk off get you in the mood?"

He curls up and rests his head on her shoulder. "I don't even know. It's not really hot while it's happening. He's just a kid, you know? But when I got back today, Mikeyway looked at me like this memory had just rushed into his head, and he said, 'Fuck. That was pretty hot, Frank.' Not flirty, not like he was trying to add me to his list of daily soul-suckees, just. Like a fact. Like it was so hot that it had stuck with him for nine years."

Jamia is quiet for a long moment, then she says, "Should we talk about this?"

Frank turns his face into her neck, nestling close. "I don't think I'd know what to say," he says honestly. "I'll keep you posted about what's going on in my head as I figure it out, okay?"

"Okay." She tilts his chin up to kiss him. "Now, what was that about going down on me for an hour?"

Frank nudges her legs apart with his elbows and noses down her body eagerly. She's laughing before he gets her pants off.

***

The next time Frank shows up, he goes down on Mikey.

It's the hottest blowjob Mikey's ever gotten. Not because of any particular skill--Frank isn't really all that good at it, which isn't surprising if he's straight--but because of all the waiting. Mikey doesn't usually have to wait. Most people are attracted to him, and he can usually tell easily when they aren't. There's no point going after someone who doesn't want him when he's got three other people lined up to fuck his mouth.

But this is different. This is intentionally drawn out, forced patience, and it's tearing Mikey up at the same time as it's healing him.

Because it is. He's been trying to hold off when he has sex, and it's not easy, but he's getting better at it. And the better he gets at not coming, the better he feels. If he didn't believe Frank before about the incubus thing--and he didn't, not really; there was a large part of him that was just going along with the sex because Frank is fucking hot--he believes it now.

He doesn't hold out when Frank blows him. He barely makes it past the moment Frank _says_ he's going to blow him. Frank bends his head and licks up Mikey's cock, carefully, like he's maybe never done this before. Mikey holds his breath and tries to think of unsexy things, but there don't seem to be any.

Frank looks up at him, face tilting up a little, and a strand of spit stretches from Mikey's cock to his bottom lip. Mikey tries not to come, he really desperately tries. He can do better than this, he knows he can, he _has_.

The strand breaks, snaps against Mikey's dick and Frank's lip, and Mikey comes in a swell of panic and pleasure.

Right up Frank's nose.

Frank splutters and snorts semen all over Mikey's bed. Mikey is going to die. Death is going to happen, and it will be to him, and all of this training will be completely pointless because Frank will never meet his future self because he will be _dead._

Frank is making hacking noises, and Mikey thinks for a second that he somehow snorted it into his mouth--holy fuck, has there ever been a worse blowjob in the history of the universe?--but then he realizes Frank is laughing.

"Tissue," gasps Frank, eyes streaming. Mikey flails for the box and Frank grabs a handful. He's cracking up so hard that it takes him three tries to blow all the jizz out of his nose. "That was beautiful, Mikeyway," he says. "I am never going to forget that moment, ever."

Mikey slumps down into the bed. He's pretty sure he won't, either.

***

Frank pops back into 2005. There's a beat of silence, then he and Mikey both topple onto the floor, laughing their asses off.

"I guess something funny happened this time?" says Ray, eyebrows raised, and that just sets them both off again.

It takes them a long, long time to be able to breathe properly. Ray waits patiently for them to pull themselves together, then asks, "So, Mikey, how's it going?"

They've only been waiting a day or two between visits at this end--they can go back to any time, there's no need to wait a week--so they haven't seen a whole lot of change in Mikey's behavior yet. But Mikey's entire history changes a little with each visit, so he can gauge how much more help his teenage self needs.

"I think I'm good," Mikey says. "It's really working. But... I remember being sad that Frank never came back." He meets Frank's eyes, a little bashful, and wow, bashful is not something Frank is used to seeing on Mikey. It makes him look a lot more like his younger self. "Could you go back one more time, just to say goodbye? I had a hell of a crush on you, obviously. It would be nice to get a little closure."

Frank's heart flutters in his chest, and, well, fuck. He might not be the most self-aware of dudes, but he knows what that means.

"Yeah," he says. "Of course."

***

Mikey manages to make it the entire week without coming. He only has sex three times, but hey, three fucks with no orgasms is something to be fucking proud of. He feels amazing by the end of it, filled with energy and happiness and motivation. He's never felt like this, not since before he hit puberty and started needing other people's bodies like his brother needs caffeine.

Frank has figured out by now how to hit the edge of the bed, where his fall will be broken by the mattress but he won't break any of Mikey's bones. He shows up at six on Saturday, like usual.

Mikey's awake and waiting for him. "I didn't come this week," he says. "I had sex three times and didn't come."

"Fuck, dude, that's awesome!" says Frank. He offers his palm, and Mikey smacks it.

He can tell right now that this is the last time. He doesn't need Frank anymore, and Frank doesn't want to be here. That was pretty much the first thing he said when he crash-landed on Mikey's knees. There's no reason for him to come back now that Mikey has himself under control.

"Hey," he says quietly, so that Frank doesn't have to be the one to bring up the fact that he's about to leave for good. Mikey smiles at him, careful and warm. "I'm looking forward to meeting you."

***

Frank wakes up with Jamia pressed against him from chest to ankles, legs tangled with his, arm slung over his waist. Her hand moves a little, rubbing with her fingertips, letting him know she's awake. The blinds are closed, and the room is just dark and hidden enough for him to be able to whisper, "We should talk about Mikey."

She kisses his shoulder, soft and wet. "You want him?"

Frank closes his eyes. "I really fucking do."

It's easier to accept now that he's said it out loud. It seems silly that he was ever reluctant to admit it, now that it's out there. It makes perfect sense that he would, and there's no reason to deny it.

He's still fucking terrified.

"Okay," Jamia murmurs. She works her mouth up along the tendon of his shoulder and sinks her teeth into his neck, right where he likes it best. Frank lets out a tiny whoosh of air, trying to relax into her. He knows this. They know this, each other, themselves. If she says it's okay, it has to be.

"You want the strap-on?"

"Yeah," he says. "Please."

They've done this before, tons of times, but this is the first time he's wondered what a dick would be like in place of the dildo. Jamia rolls him onto his stomach, tucks a pillow under his hips, works her way into him slow and easy, and he thinks about how it would feel if it were a little thicker, a little warmer, a little blunter.

"Quit biting yourself," she says.

He lets go of his lip with his teeth. She pulls back and slams in, missing his prostate by just enough to frustrate. "Nnnngh," moans Frank, and he can practically hear her smiling. He thinks about doing this with Mikey, about feeling his energy ebb away into him, making him livelier and stronger. The idea turns Frank on more than he would have expected.

She works a hand under him and jerks him off mercilessly. He doesn't stand a chance. Jamia was the one who taught him how to keep himself from coming, and in the process she learned basically everything there is to know about his dick. She squeezes his orgasm out of him effortlessly, but she doesn't stop.

"Too much," he protests weakly, but she just says, "Deal, princess," and grinds her clit against the base of the dildo until she's done.

She leaves him there, melded to the mattress, while she showers. When he hears the water turn off, he rips himself out of bed for his own shower. The water stings a little against his ass, in a good way.

Jamia is downstairs making pancakes when Frank gets out of the bathroom. He comes up behind her and hooks his chin over her shoulder, running his fingers through her hair. She turns her head to nuzzle at his cheek. "You okay?" she asks.

He thinks about it. "Yeah," he says finally. "I think I am."

***

"A hell of a crush, huh?"

Mikey looks up from his phone. Frank is standing there, hands in his pockets, looking more awkward than he has when it's just the two of them in a long time.

"Yeah," says Mikey. "Sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen, but I guess I should have known it would. I was young, you were... you."

"I'm still me," says Frank. "I don't think that's changing, no matter how old you get."

And that's a little bit of a problem, maybe, but Mikey's an adult. He can take it. "Did I make you uncomfortable by saying that?"

"Yeah," says Frank. "Or I made me uncomfortable, I guess, by wanting to hear it."

Mikey sucks in a breath and waits, but it looks like that's all Frank is going to give him.

It's been a long time. Nine years is a long fucking time to spend trying to get over someone. If he'd known it would happen like this, he might have asked Ray to do it instead, because Ray is good at calming and guiding. Frank is just good at grabbing the world and shaking it like a snow globe.

Mikey knew that, but he still felt excitement stab his gut when Frank lost that coin toss. Nine-year-old memories aren't much, but they're something.

And this is something else.

"I'm still pretty young," Mikey says, and holds out a hand.


End file.
